Like this:

When my daddy tried to kill me
I really should have died.
Since I came out of my mother’s womb,
I have cried & cried & cried.
Life without love is not worth living
and this is really true.
The hate filled malignancy of others
is all that’s there for you.
They push & shove & cuss & hate.
Everyone on the planet, it seems
is on your plate.
Your brother’s & your sisters,
they took your daddy’s cue.
Since they are all successful,
they turned a whole town against you.
They told everyone you were crazy
& swore to GOD it was true.
Stealing, pillaging, and slandering.
The world can’t get it’s fill.
There’s no end to the atrocities
reserved for the mentally ill.
& when they are through with you
& you know your proper station,
you have to watch in silent horror
as it falls to the next generation.
And after that, another,
just like the one before.
All the hell & hatred in the world, until the world’s no more.

tiny screams-shattered silence
small moans-never heard
scars too big-tiny lives battered
tiny lips, bloody-utter not a word
a lie covers a bruise
sad eyes-look away
i’ll not tell-not ever
the way that i’ve been “used”
secret pain-inside, no way out
dark and dreary in here
no use in crying-don’t pout
cause theres no way out
by asa

The first grade teacher explained,
Daddies are different, none the same,
“Tommy, tells us about your dad”…
Wanting to refused he got mad…
Mommy told him never to say..
But teacher said he had to today…
Knowing he’d be in trouble if he ran…
Looking at teacher, he quietly began…
My daddy is huge, tall and strong…
Says everything mommy does is wrong…
Hits my mommy, makes her cry…
Most everyday I don’t know why…
Knocks her down on the floor…
She hit her head on the door…
Says he’d find her if we leave…
Claims he loves us, I don’t believe…
Leaves bruises all over her face…
Said, if I told, I’d get a taste…
Room got quiet, for they knew…
This isn’t what their daddies do …

Poem was printed with permission from the talented author
Angela Hutcherson-Jenkins
she offers many poetry books free to download and hardcopies for sale at Tommy’s Daddy

The first grade teacher explained,
Daddies are different, none the same,
“Tommy, tells us about your dad”…
Wanting to refused he got mad…
Mommy told him never to say..
But teacher said he had to today…
Knowing he’d be in trouble if he ran…
Looking at teacher, he quietly began…
My daddy is huge, tall and strong…
Says everything mommy does is wrong…
Hits my mommy, makes her cry…
Most everyday I don’t know why…
Knocks her down on the floor…
She hit her head on the door…
Says he’d find her if we leave…
Claims he loves us, I don’t believe…
Leaves bruises all over her face…
Said, if I told, I’d get a taste…
Room got quiet, for they knew…
This isn’t what their daddies do …

Poem was printed with permission from the talented author
she offers many poetry books free to download and hardcopies for sale at lulu.com/xeson

How could it be, we’ve no food to feed the children
How could it be, we’ve no heat to warm their feet
How could it be, you still can’t find employment
How can it be, you’ve a needle in your arm
How could it be, I thought that I once loved you
How could it be, I thought you loved me too
How could it be, I wanted things to change
How can it be, you sold our wedding rings
How could it be, the new baby won’t stop crying
How could it be, the oldest sucks his thumb
How could it be, you don’t come home for days now
How can it be, I always seem to stay
How can it be, I’m talking to this stranger
How can it be, I’m telling everything
How can it be, you said no one would believe me
How can it be, are feet are warm tonight
How can it be, strangers really care
How can it be, the children seem to glow
How can it be, they barely know our names
How can it be, they love us just the same
How can it be, I’m standing on my own
How can it be, the children are growing strong
How can it be, the Lord has stood beside me
How can it be, my heart no longer hurts
How can it be, just seeing is believing
How can it be, to be myself for once
How can it be, I no longer ask that question
For I see, how it can be

If you run a newsletter, blog or anything to create awareness about domestic violence you may use this poem with my permission, just email me so that I know. dreamfocused@earthlink.net

Readers; this is one of the most read posts on my blog, The Last Straw. To help support other men, women and children find this supportive blog please link to this blog when possible, especially if you are using the following poem on your site. When you link here it increase the chance of it being found in search engines, again, allowing others to benefit from our support. My many thanks.

PERMISSION TO USE POEM: This poem and photo are all over the net now, please make sure to give kuddos to the author – Rebecca J. Burns and the photographer D. Sharon Pruitt. You may ONLY use the photo when posting the poem with it. You DO NOT have permission to use only the photo. For photo use only contact me and I will send your email to the photographer. This is very important so please don’t just paste it somewhere.

You have permission to use this poem as is for plays, newsletters, blogs and such as long as you give credit. Also, try and leave a blog post letting me know you are using it. I recently received an email asking to use the poem without my name. I prefer not to as the reason for writing this poem was to generate awareness of abuse and to steer readers to this blog to help themselves and others recover from abuse of any kind.

Dedicated to little ones living with adult fearsPhotos by D. Sharon Pruitt

My name is Bobby;

Although you never hear me speak,

I’ve lots to say.

Even though you never see me smile,

Deep inside I’m still your child.

Although you don’t know my name,

I breathe in and out just the same.

This game you play, I don’t know the rules,

I go to school, and I try to be,

The child you dream.

One foot forward and two steps back,

you did it wrong now take that slap.

Get off the floor you silly fool;

Go cry your tears into Winnie the Pooh.

You have no choice, you are my child, No one cares if you live or die. Don’t say a word, Don’t tell a soul. You must be so good, They’ll think you’re made of gold.

Did you play this with your dad? You were his only son. Why are you so mad? Why do you make me run? I lie beneath my bed; the pillow no longer drowns the dread.

What made you so mad? You only hit me once yet I feel so sad. I’m in my room upon my knees, hoping that you will see, the hurting child inside of me. I’m praying that lightening will strike; will I die before the morning light?

I don’t want to play this game, I don’t know the rules, I don’t want to play your stupid game no more. Take away the board, smash it on the floor, Daddy won’t you let me know the way, to play this game you play, I’ll learn the rules someday,

I promise if you let me run away…

(Whispered)

I won’t say a word,
I won’t tell a soul,
I will be so good;
you’ll think I’m made of gold.

I am posting the following poem from Allie, a blog writer and reader of The Last Straw blog. I am told the author is unknown and do my best to find out who wrote it.

__________________________

I wanted to share this poem with everyone, because I feel it is important for everyone to know that it is ok to get involved. The more people that get involved the more we can prevent abuse. I feel the best way to show someone that you care is to help them even if you are not directly involved.

She was such a pretty child, as pretty as could be.
The blondest hair and bluest eyes, this little girl of three.
She lived next door and I would often see her play outside.
Putting all her dollies in a wagon for a ride.
I often thought how beautiful she would be when she’s grown.
She was just the cutest thing as she played there alone.
I only knew her parents from a passing wave or “hi.”
They did not want to socialize each time that I would try.

I sometimes heard them arguing when I was in my yard.
I know the problems people have can sometimes make life hard.
I thought they were just loners because they kept to them self.
They might think I am nosy if I try to offer help.
They never bother anyone, the other neighbors say.
And the little girl can only go out back to play.
You only see them come and go, they never stay outside.
You wonder when they act like that, have they something to hide?

One day I heard them arguing, much louder than before.
As I looked out, the little girl was standing by her door.
Her little face was bruised and tears were running down her cheek.
I wanted to go over there, but I was scared and meek.
Finally when the screaming stopped, and everything was calm
I saw the little girl was being held close to her mom.
Her mother rocked her back and forth, and she was crying too.
Just standing in the back yard, there was nothing I could do.

Nothing I could ever do, would be of any use.
This mother and this little girl were suffering abuse.
She had better call someone and get this thing resolved.
But, it is not my business and I cannot get involved.
As I spoke with neighbors, about what went on next door
They all agreed, that it was sad, it’s something we abhor.
It’s something we must overlook, we cannot interfere.
But, now we sing a different tune, as we are gathered here.

The neighborhood feels guilty,
for we looked the other way.
Are we all responsible for being here today?
We feel the anger and the shame, because we all stood by
Knowing now we could have helped, but didn’t even try.
And now this little three year old, so beautiful to me
Surrounded by her dollies, just the way she loved to be
Is in a little casket, with her body limp and frail.
Her mom is in intensive care, her dad is now in jail.

The funeral home is quiet, because we all realize
The reason you must get involved is right before our eyes.
Abuse in any form is something we must all resent.
And fight with every tool we have to save our innocent.